Milk & Espresso
by Ombree
Summary: Collection of Coffee Shop/Cafe AU one-shots.


x . x . x  
Title: Caffe Breve  
Prompt: Fall/Winter clothed Sasuke with Coffee  
Note: I'm in love with Coffee Shop AUs and so instead of Lifetimes becoming filled with them I decided to make a whole separate collection. _imsorryijustlovecoffeesasukeandteasakura_

* * *

The air is chilled and holds all the smells that come with the change of season. It's deep into November, and the leaves have already started their shift from floral greens to the vibrant reds, and calming deep yellows. He's young but not dumb—he's graduated college and gotten that long sought after criminal justice degree, but he's not quite ready to make the jump into the true working world. He's fine with his serving job.

The air is crisp with it's cool touch but it's not enough to bring out the winter coat. The knit beanie of forest green will keep his head warm enough, and the scarf of deep gray wrapped loosely upon his neck is just another added touch to keep him warm within his walk to his favorite coffee shop. He's clad in plaid of off white, and brown with the cardigan of forest green only a hair deeper than his knit beanie left open. He's particular with his liquid caffeine and it's only this shop that he frequents so often. They're open far earlier than others, and they close much later than the rest. They're not a chain of Starbucks, and Dunkin Donuts. They're a simple mom and pops place, and they're good at what they do.

His love for coffee had become acquired early within his years of college. It had become his life force during study sessions, and his immediate choice of drink when relaxing within a good book. Sometimes there's that craving for the simple black in the mornings, or an ice coffee with a shot of vanilla, and then there's the craving for something a little extra. He's tried more than his share—he's partial to the latte macchiato with it's milk, and espresso, but fond of the vienna, borgia, and dirty chai latte. There's a hum from him as he makes his way into the door reaching into the back pocket of his dark blue jeans.

They couple who owns this small place he has long since assumed are the same age as his parents and quick to greet him as they always are. They know him immediately it's that much more apparent that he frequents this place a lot more than he should probably be allowed. The older woman bends across the counter with a smile.

"Sasuke-san, what will it be today? I wondered if you'd visit us." she's all tease, and all bright smiles as she looks to him.

He gives forth his own small smile back, "I'll take a caffe breve today, Haruno-san."

She gives way to a hum as if she's contemplating his choice, "You and that espresso—it baffles me how you haven't had a heart attack yet." he can only give a grunt as she gets to making his espresso with half-and-half, and foam milk, "If I can't persuade you against it you'll at least have to let me make you an affogato later."

He gives forth another noise in response as he pulls the money from his wallet. It's entirely a habit, and entirely him, and there's no doubt she understands it as agreeance.

"You find a nice girl to settle down with yet?" she's asking the same questions his own mother does and there's only a shake to his head, "Ah, but you're such a nice boy—are you headed to work?"

"No. I'm off today, and figured it would be good to catch up on my reading." he lays the money down, and sliding his wallet back within it's home inside his back pocket.

"I see." she's breaks into another smile as she lays down the small plate that holds his caffe breve, "You'll have to tell me if it's good or not. I sent my daughter a copy of that last one you recommended."

"I'll be sure to do so, Haruno-san."

He's always polite and always respectful. They're good people, and he can't help but have a soft spot for them in all the times they've done the smallest of things for him through his college years.

This woman was always kind enough to give him a refill, and always kind enough to check in on how he was doing within his studying. Her husband is no exception in giving him his coffee for free on his way to work, and letting him try something different. They talked well of there daughter who had went to school much farther away. They always spoke highly of their daughter's desire to become a doctor, and while he's never met her he's sure that she's just as kind as her parents.

The seat he takes is his personal favorite, and the one he always takes when it's available. He's laid silent claim to such a seat that allows him to sit within the window, and take in whatever should come by. There's the setting of his drink upon the table, the pull of his sleeves to sit around his elbows, and the placement of his plain messenger bag of brown upon the back of his chair before he takes his seat and digs for the book. It takes no matter of time for him to become immersed within the pages. The book is by no means new—he's tackling 'The Giver' by Lois Lowry—but the summary had grabbed his attention. There's something enticing about this world proclaimed as a utopia that very much is false. He's gotten through just the first few chapters before now, and he's interested to see what the main character will go through as this story unfolds.

There's the sip of his caffe breve—the older woman has prepared it _perfect_ as always—and then there's the flip of a page. He's not sure when he's lost track of time and he's not sure how many other's have come in and out of this small coffee shop. There's only the faintest notice at the sound of others taking their own seats to enjoy whatever they've ordered. They're never loud, and those that had come with other's are sure to whisper within the calm atmosphere.

There's a lean back within his chair and the placement of his ankle upon his leg as he's flipped another page. His fingers have found a home within the joint of his arm only leaving to bring the cup to his lips. It's cooled within the time he's been reading, but there's still enjoyment in licking the steamed half-and-half from his upper lip. There's another chapter finished, and then the notice that he's almost half way through his first cup. There's a perk of his ears at hearing someone slide their chair back within it's rightful place, and then there's another drag of the caffe breve to his mouth allowing the liquid to slide within his mouth never taking his eyes from the beginning of a new chapter.

The question of freedom is high within his mind as the main character is set do what he can only considered controlled volunteer work. This world is intriguing, and yet it feels far colder and far less lively within his mind. There's no color to be had in this world his book describes. There's no hope present within such a world deluded of color. There's only the emotional detachment that comes with the structured world this boy he's journeying through feels. There's a pinch of his brow as he reads over the emotional struggle within this character. He takes another sip in contemplation of if something like the Sameness would ever truly be such a utopia.

The drag of the cup comes back to his lips deep within his current chapter and nothing falling within his lips is what finally snaps him from the book. He's soft within setting the book down upon the pages he's left on before taking his cup, and plate to the counter. The husband is what greets him. He's always far too energetic for his tastes but he knows the man means well within his ornery comments.

It's only with the help of the wife that he's able to escape from the jokes that fall upon him, and it's no wonder these two work so well together. She's strict upon her husband for his ornery ways, and he's the humor this woman needs to relax. It's something he can appreciate as he makes his way back to the table and returning to his book. Elbows become propped upon the table as on hand holds open his book, and the other cradles his chin.

It's not to long into resuming his place before he's completely captured within this world so diluted, and muted of color. It doesn't take much effort to picture this world so emotionally detached, and emotionally suffocated. There's a deep inhale at learning of the pill these people used to stifle their desires— _sexual desires at that_ —and that this boy has agreed to take such a thing.

The pages come and go, and with it more and more people come and go just the same. He's lost track of time once more although he's sure he hasn't been too deep as the sun has only dimmed some. Obsidian glide from the pages to take in the world not held down by the Sameness as he watches those that walk passed.

Soft footsteps make their way to his side to come upon who has dared to make their way to him. Pale rose-colored strands, and glowing viridian is what his obsidian take in. This woman is full of color unlike the world of his book. The smile upon her lips is wide as she bends only slightly to place a cip down before him. This woman is lively unlike the world of his book. He cannot stop himself from blinking at the action and the confusion that comes with a dip of his mouth.

"Mama said the affogato is on the house." she's soft with every word she speaks and he cannot stop his eyes from following every movement her mouth makes, "She put vanilla gelato in it instead of icecream."

His jaw tightens within his swallow as he digests what she's said and his head has come to remove itself from the safety of the hand that cradled it. This woman is different than what he had expected. They had always mentioned a daughter throughout his frequent visits—never would he have guessed this hereditary makeup of long pale rose-colored strands, and glowing viridian that held a warmth very much acquired from her parents. She's adorned in a long sleeve deep red undershirt and a white vest with washed out jeans and knee high brown boots.

She brings a cup he hadn't quite noticed upon initially seeing her to her lips, "Whatcha reading?"

His voice feels locked within his throat, and he only answers her once he clears his throat, "The Giver."

"Oo, is it any good?" she's got her mother's smile decorated upon her face.

"Yeah." he answers with a touched of hesitance placing his fingers that had once held his head down upon the table.

"Mama, and Papa always talk about you. It's nice to finally meet you—I'm Sakura Haruno."

"Likewise." he responds far quicker than he would ever like to admit.

She gives a nod of her head towards the empty seat across from him, "Mind if I sit down?"

That habitual noise he gives comes out as a response, and it's only with watching her brows pinched together in what he can only determine to be confusion does he answer her properly, "Yeah."

She's all sun, and all warmth as she cradles the cup within her hands. She's chatting away easily as if they've known each other for years, and he cannot stop himself from staring at her. She's cute—far too cute. She's _young, but not dumb_ —she's given away that she's just graduated this year, and preparing to intern at the local hospital. He's forgotten his book within her presence. She's commanded all of it without even knowing it. The only thing he can do is bring the spoon within the affogato to his mouth as he keeps his focus upon her.

The brush of her fingers tucking her long pale rose-colored strands he realizes is a habit. She's nervous within his presence, and he cannot understand why. He cannot understand any of what's before him, and at the same time he's not complaining. She's not obnoxiously loud— _no, she's just loud enough_ —and she holds only the smallest traces of her father's energetic personality.

He can only see the irony in that he's read of this world within the pages of a book lost and without color. She's all color, and she's all lively. She's a bright spot in this coffee shop and one that no one ever had been. No one had ever grabbed his attention just in the way that she has. He's giving hums of responses to her chatter. He's learning more about her as she talks about little things. She talks just as highly of her parents as they do of her. She mentions her age of twenty-five—she's one year younger than him.

She's all of these spring colors and yet he can only conclude she's innocent and pure. She's bright whites, and he's all kinds of endless black.

There's the hint of a smirk upon his lips— _she and him are like the caffe breve_.  
She's the steamed half-and-half and milky foam at the top.  
He's the espresso that hides within the drink.


End file.
